"Well, my sweet," said Miss Pross, nodding her head emphatically, "the short and the long of it is, that I am a subject of His Most Gracious Majesty King George the Third;" Miss Pross curtseyed at the name; "and as such, my maxim is, Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save the King!"
Mr. Cruncher, in an access of loyalty, growlingly repeated the words after Miss Pross, like somebody at church.
"I am glad you have so much of the Englishman in you, though I wish you had never taken that cold in your voice," said Miss Pross, approvingly.
"But the question, Doctor Manette.
Is there"-it was the good creature's way to affect to make light of anything that was a great anxiety with them all, and to come at it in this chance manner-"is there any prospect yet, of our getting out of this place?"
"I fear not yet. It would be dangerous for Charles yet."
"Heigh-ho-hum!" said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing a sigh as she glanced at her darling's golden hair in the light of the fire, "then we must have patience and wait: that's all.
We must hold up our heads and fight low, as my brother Solomon used to say.
Now, Mr. Cruncher!-Don't you move, Ladybird!"
They went out, leaving Lucie, and her husband, her father, and the child, by a bright fire.